Andres Neuman - Talking to Ourselves

Then I start to sing, and my mouth gets bigger. It makes Dad laugh to see how happy I am. But Mum doesnt laugh.

Id been pestering them about it now for ages. Every summer. They always said the same thing. When youre older. I hate it when they say that. I picture a long line of kids with me at the end. This time they argued. Not out loud. They waved their arms about a lot. They shut themselves in the kitchen. It really annoys me when they do that. The kitchen belongs to all of us! I put my ear to the door. I couldnt hear much. After a while they came out again. Mum had a serious face. She looked out of the window . She blew her nose. Then she came over and kissed my fringe. Dad asked me to sit down with him. Like we were having a real talk. He squeezed my hands and said: Youre a man now, Lito, were going. And I started bouncing up and down on the sofa.

I try to stay calm. Well, Im a man now, right? I pull down my T-shirt and sit properly. I ask Dad when were leaving. Right now, he says. Right now! I cant believe it. I run up to my room. I open and close drawers. I drop my clothes on the floor. Mum helps me pack my backpack. This is going to be awesome. For sure. Totally. This is the kind of stuff that starts happening to you when youve turned ten.

All three of us go down to the garage. It always smells bad in here. I switch the lights on. And theres Uncle Juanjos truck. Shiny. Like new. Dad starts checking the tyres. The engine. The oil. Does Dad know about things like that? Mum puts my backpack on the front seat. Right there. On the navigators seat. I dont know what to say. Were silent until Dads finished. His fingers are black. They look like insects. He washes his hands slowly. Then he climbs into the cab. He takes out his wallet and puts a photo of Mum on the mirror. She rubs her eyes.

It takes us ages to leave. We say goodbye and everything. Mum whispers in Dads ear. She keeps hugging me. Oof. Finally we climb into the truck. Dad immediately straps me in. But he doesnt strap himself in. He examines some papers. Looks at a map. He writes stuff down. Suddenly the engine makes a noise. The door lifts up and the garage fills with light. I cant see Mum waving anymore. Well! Dad says, banging the steering wheel, lets hope Pedro brings us luck. Why is it called Pedro? I ask. Because its a Peterbilt, son, he replies. Whats that got to do with anything? I insist. Dad roars with laughter and puts his foot down on the accelerator. I hate people laughing at me when I ask questions.

I see the roofs of the cars go by. Its like being in a helicopter with wheels. One day Ill drive Pedro. Totally. I always watch the way Uncle Juanjo does it. There are hundreds of buttons everywhere. But they really only use three or four. The hardest thing has to be steering. What happens, for instance, if youre supposed to turn one way and you turn the other by mistake? All the rest looks easy because Dad doesnt seem to pay much attention to it. Its like hes thinking about something else. But Im not going to tell Mum that. They always fight in the car. Itd be great to hold the wheel. But I know thats not possible when youre ten. Im not stupid. Wed get a ticket.

Its super hot up here. I guess because were so high up the sun is hotter. I try turning up the air-conditioning. I play with the buttons Dad played with when we were leaving. He pulls a face and turns it down again. I turn it up again. He turns it down again. Dads really annoying. I ask him, just in case: Will you teach me how to drive? Dad smiles, then goes all serious. When youre older, he sighs. Just as I thought. Its illegal, isnt it? I say. Thats not the reason, gun-toting mollusc, Dad replies. Why then? I ask, surprised. He keeps me guessing. Why? Why? I ask again. Dad takes a hand off the steering wheel, lifts his arm slowly (a red car passes us really fast, red cars are great, I prefer convertibles, a red convertible would be awesome, I wonder how the owners stop their hair from getting messed up, or maybe they all have it cut short?, of course, that must be it, but what about the women, then?), Dad stays like that, hand in the air, until I turn to look at him again. Then points his forefinger at me. No. Not at me. Lower down. Hes pointing at my trainers. Thats why, he says. I dont get it. It has to do with my trainers? Your legs, champ, Dad says, how do you think youre going to reach the pedals? Actually, I hadnt thought of that. What if I wore high heels like Mum? But I dont say that because Im embarrassed.

We leave Pampatoro behind. The bar was really gross. The food was yummy. It had tons of ketchup. There are no more trees. The countryside is yellow. Its like the light is burning the ground. I read a sign: Tucumancha. There are loads of rocks along the sides of the highway. Orange-coloured rocks like bricks. Where do bricks come from? Do people make them? Or do they grow inside rocks and people cut them into squares? Pedro is very close to the edge of the highway. Dad is braking in a weird way. His back is very straight and hes gripping the steering wheel with both hands. It reminds me of World Force Rally 3 (the music on the radio stops for the news, they read out: so many people dead, so many injured, the number of injured people is bigger than that of dead people, but what if some of the injured people die, do they change the numbers?, do they read them out again?, the music Dad has on is a bit boring, its all old stuff), that video game has some great circuits, theres one full of rocks like a huge desert. Besides crossing it, you also have to dodge animals and shoot at Arabs who attack you. If you dont kill them quickly, they leap on your car, smash the windscreen, and stab you. Its awesome. Once I nearly beat the highest score. But I turned over at the final corner, lost a life, and got points deducted. Rally games are my speciality. Maybe its because Uncle Juanjo has the truck. And without realizing it Ive learnt too. Actually, now that I think of it, there arent any pedals in World 3.

Dad, I say, did you know theres a game where the landscape is exactly like this? Really, he replies. Its one of my favourites, I tell him, the hardest thing is dodging the wild animals without driving off the track. Aha, Dad says, and if you drive off, what happens? You overturn, I tell him, and you lose time. What else? he says. Poor Dad doesnt know a thing about video games. And then you lose lots of places, I explain, and have to overtake them all again. Unless you find a supercharged engine or some extra-slick tyres of course. Is that all? Dads being really annoying. What? I reply, you think its easy dodging animals, killing Arabs, changing an engine, and overtaking everyone else without crashing into the rocks? No, no, he says, Im asking what else happens when you have an accident, I mean, do you get hurt? Do people help you? Do you get to sit out a few races or what? Video games dont work like that Dad, I sigh. I give up. Im not going to argue with someone who wouldnt even be able to beat the top score in World 1. I start fiddling with the radio until I find some better music. I look at Dad out of the corner of my eye. He doesnt say anything. We pass another sign: MGINA DEL CAMPO , 27 KM . There are no more rocks. The sun is almost level with Pedro. Now there are wire fences. Tractors. Cows. If we hit one, Ill have to restart the game.

Are you hungry? asks Dad. No, I reply. A bit, maybe. Well stop again soon, Dad says looking at the map, thats enough for today. Then he stretches his arms (I dont think he should let go of the steering wheel, Mum always says that to him in the car, and Dad tells her he knows what hes doing, and Mum says if he knew what he was doing he wouldnt let go of the steering wheel, and Dad says she can drive next time, and Mum says hes unbearable when she drives, and they both go on like that for a while), he bends forward, twists his neck, sighs. His face looks tired. Hey, I say, why dont we eat some of whats in the back? No, Lito, no, Dad laughs, we have to deliver the goods intact. Besides, everythings packed into boxes. And counted. One by one? I ask. One by one, he says. And they count everything again after weve made the delivery? I ask. I really dont know, Dad says. So whats the point? I grow impatient. Son, he says, there are lots of things about work that make no sense. Thats what they pay us for, do you see what I mean? More or less, I say.